


By The Chill Of The Grave

by Rhymefire



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Ghosts, Marvin Seo's Character Mods, Violence, all in one, and humour, so many ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhymefire/pseuds/Rhymefire
Summary: Lady Evelyn Darkest has come back to her ancestral home. Even the unobservant townsfolk can see that she intends to cleanse the evil her grandfather left behind. The observant townsfolk point out that she died minutes after she stepped foot in her ancestral home, so how's she going to do that as a ghost anyways? They talk in circles for hours.The circle is always ended by the innkeeper kicking them out of her tavern and shouting after them, "Least she's not one o' them chain-rattlers. Can't stand those types."





	1. The Old Road

Evelyn had read the letter again. It had been madness. She had heard whispered hints of Grandfather’s madness, but this was too much. She had slid the letter into her skirt’s pockets. How could he have written her such a letter? Such cheek, considering this was the man who wouldn’t come to his own son’s funeral. She had written Grandfather letter after letter pleading with him to attend, but had gotten no replies in return. How could he have sent her such a ludicrous message after all this time?

She had pulled the letter out again, thumb brushing against the spot of red on the bottom corner. Her lips had pursed. She had been warned against Grandfather. Father had made her swear an oath never to return to their ancestral home. She should have ripped the letter in two and tossed it into the gutter, but the spot of red had made her pause.

Evelyn had sighed and looked around her flower shop. She hadn’t opened it for the day, but no customers would brave the rain to purchase flowers in any case. She had thought that perhaps it would do her good to visit Grandfather, if only to snipe at him. Or to ask him why. The flower shop could survive a few days closed.

Besides, it would be good to visit her childhood home again. She still dreamt of running through the opulent halls and throwing cherry pits off the cliffs and into the ocean. She had tilted her head back. It would be good to see the ocean again.

It had taken a week to travel to the borders of her ancestral home. It was quite an exhausting affair. Evelyn had never wanted to step foot in a hansom again. Hansom drivers were an insipid lot, in any case. The last one had blanched when she’d told him her destination and only remained because she’d held out one of her exquisitely-polished rings. It had been the bumpiest ride she’d ever had and at the end of it all he had shot off before she’d fully gotten out of the hansom.

Evelyn had hefted her bag and eyed the woods around her. Her lips had twisted into a grimace. She really should have thought of hiring some protection. She had reminded herself firmly that this was her ancestral home and she had nothing to fear.

And then….

And then….

Red. Or had that come after? A bang. Pain. Her dress cut to tatters. Brambles? Or a knife?

Evelyn swayed on her feet. Or perhaps it was the breeze that did it. The one that ran through her like moonlight through water. She held out her hands and realized she could see through them. She should not have been able to scream. One needed lungs and air for that. The sound still rang through Hamlet. She could scream for much longer now.

A window slammed open above her. A freckled woman leaned out. “Quiet, ghost. There’s people tryin’ to sleep!”

Shock made Evelyn’s mouth snap shut. A heavy-set man’s face appeared by the woman’s shoulder. “Maud, leave the poor soul alone. Least she’s not one o’ them chain-rattlers. Can’t stand those types.” He looked down at her and shook a kindly finger at her. “Now don’t ye mind the missus, ghost. She’s just sour as the crops haven’t ripened yet.”

Maud huffed. “ M’sour cause there’s a ghost yappin’ away when decent folk’r tryin’ to sleep. Fool girl. Yer dead, what troubles have ye got?” This last was directed at Evelyn.

Evelyn blinked owlishly. She curtsied, half in a daze. “Sorry, ma’am,” she whispered.

Maud laughed and slapped her husband’s back. “Ye hear that? Called me ma’am, she did. Tell ye what, ghost. Ye can wail all you like s’long as it’s afore night. Aye?”

Evelyn looked at her toes, or rather through them. She tried scuffing the dirt, but her boot-tips melted through the clumpy grass. “Aye.”

The window shut tightly.

Evelyn looked around Hamlet. She could hardly understand what was happening. She was dead. Dead, dead dead. She frowned, unsure of what had happened to her home. It looked just as dead as she was. If not for Maud scolding her, she would have thought the place deserted.

A yelp sounded behind her. She turned. A chubby, sweaty man gaped at her. “My lady!” She nearly shushed him. He lurched towards her and grabbed at her, but his hands swept right through her. “You’ve grown so much,” he said. “You’re so tall. You’ve grown into a lovely ghost.” He peered at her closely. “And not too addled, either.”

She tried to push him away, but that proved impossible. She backed up instead. “Do you-“

He collapsed to his knees suddenly. “I’ve failed you! The last of our line. Dead and gone. Rotting on the road. Or in the grave.” He paused in his rantings and stood a bit sheepishly. “Have you been buried, yet? We’ve got the room.”

She shook her head. It pounded. How was that possible? She felt about to swoon. That must have been impossible.

The man bowed gracelessly. “I’m the caretaker of this place. Your grandfather gave me this job. Do you remember him?”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. It seemed the only reasonable thing to do.

He bobbled his head in something that could have been a nod. “Deepest apologies, my lady. The newly dead are often confused. Please, allow me to escort you to my office. I can explain everything.” He held out an arm for her. Evelyn stared at it for a moment and declined politely.

She followed the caretaker through Hamlet’s winding streets. He stopped at a house indistinguishable from those surrounding it. Unthinkingly, she walked right through the door. His home was messy. It stank of cheap booze. It likely hadn’t been cleaned properly in a decade.

He sat on a sofa. Apparently his office was in actuality his living room. She stared at an armchair and wondered if she should try sitting down. The mental image of her bottom falling through the chair snapped the last thread of her confused composure. She fell to the ground shrieking. Distantly she heard a voice say, “Oh. Perhaps I’d better let you chill for a bit. You’ll feel better soon, my lady.”

 

* * *

 

A living woman might have gasped in a lungful of cleansing air when understanding dawned. A dead one did not. Lady Darkest picked herself off the ground in silence. She examined the room with an intensity that the living could never hope to achieve and that the dead infused into all their actions. The emotional turmoil she had felt earlier seemed like a distant memory to her now. Or perhaps it was less than that.

Footsteps sounded and the caretaker eyed her from around a corner. “Has the grave’s chill reached you, my lady?”

She gestured for him to sit. “Tell me what has happened here.”

The tale was a long one. The stories of Grandfather’s madness may or may not have been true, but his actions had left a taint upon her land. Her lips quirked minutely. She suspected that Grandfather had been perfectly sane and knew that he was as dead as she was. “Where is Grandfather? I would like to speak with him.”

The caretaker twitched horribly. “Here or there. In the walls. Floorboards creaking, mice screaming-“ She looked at him stonily and he twitched again. “I’m not sure. His ghost walked the Hamlet for a time, but it’s been months since anyone’s seen hide or hair of him. He went into the ruins and never came back.” He hesitated a moment. “All my pardons, Lady Evelyn. I must ask. What are you going to do?”

She was almost surprised at that. Almost. “These are my ancestral lands. I am Lady Darkest now, am I not? I intend to do what I came here to do, which is to speak with my grandfather.” She looked around the messy room. “It will not do to have my ancestral home in such disarray. It appears I must cleanse the taint Grandfather has so foolishly let into my lands. I will speak with him about it when I find him.”

He keened with pleasure and tried to bow while still remaining seated. “Of course, my lady! He will be most amenable. He dictated the letter I wrote you.”

She allowed herself a smile. “I assume he had not yet chilled?”

The caretaker giggled and shook his head.


	2. Dismas - Week One

Dismas idly tapped his fingers against his pistol. The caravan lurched and he thumped a fist against the side to avoid being thrown into the armoured man beside him. There was barely room for the four of them. The crusader glared at him as though it were his fault their driver was terrible. Dismas sneered easily at the crusader.

He fixed his gaze on the women sitting across from them. The plague doctor clutched her journal tightly even in her sleep. She snored softly and her head fell against the vestal’s shoulder. The vestal smiled, though it looked a bit forced. “I am Junia,” she said. Dismas glared at her. They had spent the last few hours in silence and he would rather keep it that way. “Might I know the names of my fellow brave companions?”

Dismas forced his gaze away from her. Unsurprisingly, the crusader spoke. “I am Reynauld, good vestal. It is a sincere pleasure to meet another on Light’s path.”

The two chattered away about religion or something (he wasn’t really paying attention) the rest of the ride.

 

* * *

 

Dismas scowled and spit when he saw the town. A weather-beaten sign proudly announced ‘Welcome to Hamlet’ in curly writing. Their driver circled the four travellers with a nervous grin. He gestured at the sign. “Welcome to Hamlet!”

In his opinion, there was nothing welcoming about the place. It wasn’t worth the minimal effort it’d take to loot the moldering village. For a brief instant, he thought about leaving. He sighed. He’d come this far, already. He doubted there was any coin in a ten mile radius, but he was already here. Might as well check out the job.

The plague doctor looked around, her movements birdlike. Junia forced another smile and shook the driver’s hand. “It’s such a lovely town,” she said. “If you could point us in the direction of the caretaker?”

The driver rammed a finger into his own chest. “I have that honour.”

The crusader sighed heavily. “Perhaps we could discuss the nature of the evil here? The poster was not very informative.”

“Promised a lotta coin, though,” Dismas added.

The caretaker laughed for so long the plague doctor started musing aloud about possible treatments. The caretaker snapped to attention. “Oh, there is. Right this way. Our lady waits by her ancestor’s statue.”

It sounded like a cheesy riddle. It was not. They followed the caretaker through the scraggled streets until they caught sight of their employer. Dismas reflexively shot her.

The ghost stared at him. “One wonders,” she said, “what you were hoping to accomplish.”

The caretaker yelped and fell to his knees. “Forgive them, Lady Darkest! They are fresh lambs walking in the fields of your ancestry. Sparrows meeting an eagle! Smoke before a-“

“You may go.”

The caretaker snapped upwards, giggling and walked off. Dismas kept his pistol aimed at her. “The hell is this?” he spat.

The vestal had eased her holy symbol out its sheath and the crusader gripped his sword tightly. They would have attacked her had the plague doctor not bounced in front of them.

“I’m Badu,” she said. “How fascinating to meet a ghost. Tell me, do you experience any discomfort? Are you cold in any way? Can you float? If you can, do you choose to remain grounded? Why?”

The ghost held up a hand. Dismas wiped his eyes with his free hand. He could have sworn a smile had flickered across her face, but it must have been the wind. “I am comfortable. I am not cold or warm. I have not tried floating, but if I could I would choose to remain grounded because there is little of interest in the empty sky.” She held up a see-through finger with each answer. “It would appear that the most interesting things happen on ground level.” Her chill gaze landed on him and he shivered. She definitely smiled that time.

The crusader snorted. “The verses say that-“

“I’ll bite,” Dismas said. “What’s a ghost want with the likes of us?”

She tilted her head. “I am Lady Darkest. I intend to cleanse my ancestral lands of evil.” She reached out and swept her hand through the knight’s sword. “I cannot interact with most items and so require the aid of those who can. I have coin to pay you. Is that sufficient?”

“What do you want us to do? Cleansing evil is pretty vague.”

“I intend to guide you through ruins and other tainted places. You will kill and loot. I will pay you.”

“We get to keep the loot?”

Her lips quirked slightly. “No. I will pay you.” He shrugged. Fair enough. “Are you ready to sign the contract?”

Junia squeaked and thrust her symbol out. “You shall not claim our souls, ghost. I will purify your soul and send you to the grave.” Dismas rolled his eyes. It would have been more threatening if she wasn’t shaking.

Lady Darkest pinned the vestal with a look. “When alive I insisted on signing a legal contract with my workers. Why should I not do this now that I am dead?”

Dismas barked out a laugh. He holstered his pistol. “Why the fuck not? Never worked with a ghost before. You want someone to loot and shoot, I’m your man.”

Badu stepped closer to the ghost. “Me too! This will be such interesting work.”

Junia and Reynauld withdrew a bit and whispered to each other fiercely. Eventually they stepped forward. “We have come,” the crusader said, “to wipe this place clean of evil.”

The phantom stared at them politely. Dismas snorted. “He means they’ll help too,” he said.

The ghost did smile then. “Good. I have already asked the caretaker to draw up several documents.” She pointed at a sheaf of papers by the crumbled ancestor’s statue. They were weighed down with a stone. “You should read them carefully before signing.”

Dismas paid careful attention to the parts that mentioned gold. A weekly amount had been set aside for them as payment. It would be divided equally between the four who agreed to go on an expedition that week. The others would not be paid that week, but all hired employees meals and board were covered. He glared suspiciously at the spectral woman. “You’re planning on hiring others?”

“Yes.”

He jabbed at a line. “They why have only four go in at a time.”

“Because this is a series of precision strikes. Not an attempt to annihilate the surrounding area.”

He shrugged easily. Fair enough. He signed the paper and held it out to her. She stared at it. Dismas realized – too late – that she couldn’t actually take it from him. “The caretaker will hold onto that,” she said.

 

* * *

 

He regretted everything. Apparently ‘evil’ really meant ‘walking skeletons.’ His nerves weren’t helped by the fact that Lady Darkest watched them in silence. Her form blended right into the shadows. They needed to keep the torch burning brightly to keep her in sight. On one occasion she had vanished through a wall. The group had ground to a halt arguing. Junia had been convinced that the ghost had abandoned them. Then the ghost had returned and calmly told them the layout of the next few corridors and mentioned a few traps to be avoided. There were some benefits to having a ghost on your side.

Their ethereal employer was bossy about what should and should not be touched. She insisted they dab holy water on a few statues – something which Reynauld took an irritating amount of pleasure in doing. She insisted they pick up crests, busts, documents and, on one occasion, an entire oil painting.

Reynauld turned out to be a thief. Dismas swore under his breath when he saw the crusader slip a sapphire into a hidden pocket. He glanced at the ghost, ice coating his stomach. Her eyes sharpened and she stretched a hand towards the crusader. Then she dropped her hand and shrugged.

If Dismas hadn’t been far too wary of her, he might have considered some theft himself. He mentally scolded himself. No, he was trying to step away from all that. He glared at the crusader. Someone clearly deserved a knife in the back, though.

Badu’s stomach growled at that moment and the plague doctor laughed. “I’m glad you had us pack that food, Lady Darkest. Can we stop for lunch?”

Dismas didn’t bother to point out that it was probably closer to being dinner at this point. When they were settled he frowned suddenly. “Wait a fucking minute.” The others paused, sandwiches held halfway to their mouths. “The town is called ‘Hamlet,’ the manor is called ‘Darkest Manor’ and,” he pointed at the ghost, “Your actual last name is ‘Darkest?’”

She pursed her lips. “My ancestors were not very creative.”


	3. Sarmenti - Week Two

Sarmenti laughed when he saw the ghost. She stared at him curiously. He laughed harder. He stopped when Alhazred strode forward.

The crusader that stood by Lady Darkest said, “This undead creature seeks the purification of these rotting lands. Tis an honourable goal.”

Sarmenti sniggered at the look the ghost gave him. He doubted she appreciated the oaf’s ‘help.’ “I will pay,” she said.

Alhazred sniffed. “I need more than payment before I feel comfortable working with you, Lady Darkest. Do you swear that what this man says is true?”

“Yes.”

The occultist – Sarmenti had caught sight of the candled skull hidden in his bag – sniffed again. “Any ghost can say that. An oath with meaning if you please.”

“Are you hoping she’ll swear on her own grave?” Sarmenti asked.

Unexpectedly, the ghost spoke. “I swear it on the chill of the grave.”

The occultist nodded. Sarmenti shrugged and signed the paper the oaf handed him. He’d worked for worse in the past. He doubted one dead woman who couldn’t touch him would be more trying than his previous court.

He watched the ghost curiously. Her gaze flicked over him, but turned to Shag. The man loosened his dog’s chain. The wolfhound bounded towards the ghost and sniffed at the air around her. It pushed its nose into the place where her stomach should have been, yelped delightedly and danced back to its master. “If she likes you,” Shag said, “I like you.”

Lady Darkest smiled thinly. “The next expedition will be tomorrow. Four at a time. No more, no less.”

 

* * *

 

By that time, Sarmenti had learned the names and occupations of his fellow employees, thoroughly explored Hamlet and learned that its people liked the ghost well enough. Shag, Alhazred, Badu and Junia went on that week’s trip. Lady Darkest went with them.

 

* * *

 

There was very little to amuse someone in Hamlet. Half the buildings in the main square were closed. The people spent their time trying to grow sickly crops and care for coops of scrawny chickens. Sarmenti eyed the boarded up tavern. It was a terrible shame that it was closed. These people could use a drink or two and, more importantly, he really felt like a game of dice.

Since Dismas was a horrible cheat, the jester approached Reynauld. The crusader huffed at him and gestured at the boarded up abbey. “Evil already rules these streets. You should be helping me restore this place of worship instead of flooding Hamlet with sin. These people need the Light to strengthen them.”

Sarmenti laughed cruelly. “If these people welcomed the Light, then why did they board up the abbey?”

Reynauld gaped, as though that hadn’t even occurred to him. The jester sauntered away. Oaf.

When Lady Darkest returned, the crusader strode up to her. He bowed and she cocked an ethereal brow. Interesting. Apparently such behaviour was unusual for the knight. “Lady Darkest,” the knight said. “Are you aware that the abbey has been boarded up?”

The ghost stared at him as though trying to figure out if this was a serious question. “Yes.”

“And you allow this?”

She cocked her head. “Why not?”

The knight started a speech about the importance of the Light. Sarmenti lounged against a nearby tree. He wasn’t interested in listening in, but he was greatly amused by the ghosts’ expressions. She listened as though humouring a small child. Once the three hour speech was over, she even started a gesture that might have been to pat the oaf’s head. As Shag with his dog. “I will consider your words,” she said.

The knight deflated slightly. Sarmenti cheerfully mocked him for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

Sarmenti woke up the next morning to find Lady Darkest standing at the foot of his bed. He grinned at the phantom. “I must be an excellent jester if I’ve been keeping you entertained during my sleep.”

Her expression did not change, but her edges softened. “I must speak with you and Reynauld.”

The jester couldn’t help but grin wider. He did so love a challenge. He would make her laugh eventually, a great big, guffawing laugh that could be heard for miles. It was the only thing he was good at, after all.

Reynauld was already awake. When they approached, the oaf put away his rosary and bowed.

“You two will open up the abbey,” she said.

“Of course, my lady! I am glad that you have seen reason. The Light is the only way to strengthen this town.”

Sarmenti scowled. “Why me?”

She turned her stone gaze to him. “You were listening during his speech yesterday. I assumed you were interested.”

He gestured at the oaf so dramatically that the bells on his hat jingled. “His idiocy transfixed me.”

Lady Darkest stared at them. Her gaze was far too intense. It bordered on the unnerving. “You two will open up the abbey,” she said again.

Reynauld clapped him on the back. He nearly stumbled at the force of the blow. “Fear not, my good man. The Light will purify you as we work.”

“You could certainly use purifying, tainted as you are,” Sarmenti said.

The knight flinched away.

 

* * *

 

Reynauld approached the gypsy women who were the only ones brave enough to seek trade in Hamlet, the jester trailing after him. Sarmenti watched, scowling, as the knight ordered enough religious supplies to properly open up a new abbey. When the woman demanded payment, the knight made an odd sound.

Apparently the oaf had expected these supplies to just appear one day as divine providence. Reynauld tried to shield it from the jester’s view, but Sarmenti still caught sight of a blue flash exchanging hands. He chuckled. “I wasn’t aware that we were paid in jewels.”

The knight’s expression turned pained. “We are not.”

Sarmenti scowled. He hadn’t expected the oaf to own up to that. To hide his surprise, he made a snide comment about purification. Or perhaps it was virtue. The barbed comment had sprung reflexively to his tongue and who was he to waste or proofread it? “If you really want to make the people happy, we should open up the tavern again. These people could use a drink.”

Reynauld shook his head. Sarmenti huffed and went off on his own to do a little digging. It was amazing what a little friendly chatter could unearth.

That night, he positioned himself below the tavern. He strummed his lute sweetly. The window above him opened and a large, freckled woman peered down at him. “Thought we ‘ad another ghost down here, I did,” she exclaimed. She leaned farther out of the window. “You one ‘a them the Lady Darkest hired?”

Sarmenti rose to his feet and swept her a courtly bow. “Indeed I am, beautiful maiden.”

She guffawed. “Harold, come look at this! We got a charmer, we have.” A heavy-set man appeared beside her. “Called me a maiden, did’n he?”

Harold smiled and whispered something into her ear. She laughed heartily and slapped a hand against his chest. “What you want, then?”

He laughed. “A drink. Unfortunately, there’s no tavern here. Not even an inn.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “Oy! Is too. S’just closed right now.”

“And do you own this so called tavern?”

She sighed. “Used to. Till those brigands started sniffin’ around town. Searchin’ for booze and Light knows what else. They’re attracted to booze, don’t you know? Like moths to a flower.”

Sarmenti corrected that last sentence in his head, but smiled anyways. “I haven’t seen any brigands in town.”

She waved at him. “Nah, they’ve cleared out now that….” She gasped slightly. “Since the lady came back last month.” She slammed the window shut.

Sarmenti didn’t need to strain to hear the commotion coming from inside. He smirked and stroked his lute. No doubt the tavern would be open tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Lady Darkest followed after him and the oaf. Reynauld showed her about the reopened abbey proudly. It was still horribly broken in some areas and lacked a roof in others, but it was clean and Junia had agreed to help attract more vestals to serve here. An abbey needed a staff after all. Lady Darkest did not seem pleased, but neither did she seem displeased. The dead proved to be remarkably hard to read.

She nodded slightly and took her leave. Sarmenti left the crusader behind. He fell beside the phantom woman. He held a hand up to his ear. “What’s that I hear from down the street? It sounds almost like laughter and jubilation. An impossible thing, in this place. Shall we investigate?”

She followed him to the tavern. She paused momentarily when she saw the open door. Warm light and laughter spilled out into the street. Maud cheered when she saw them and pulled him inside. She motioned for the ghost to follow. Were Lady Darkest alive, the jester would have sworn she looked faintly amused.

“S’all thanks to you, Lady Darkest,” Maud said. “I’ve not seen a single bandit come into town since ya up and died here.” She turned to the half-full common room. “We’ve got our own guardian ghost!”

The crowd was already half-drunk, and needed little reason to celebrate. The ghost still shone when they lifted their tankards up and cheered. “The building needs repairs,” she said.

She stood by the fire and watched the crowd anyways.

 

* * *

 

Sarmenti had almost succeeded. He thought he had until he heard Reynauld thanking the ghost profusely for her generosity. He snuck closer, sticking to the shadows, and his fists clenched.

“Why are you thanking me? The Light is an important tool,” Lady Darkest was saying. “It makes sense to trade in my heirlooms to begin the abbey’s repairs.”

“May the Light fall upon you, good lady,” the oaf said.

The ghost shrugged. “The abbey is important.” Her eyes caught on the jester and he flinched. She tilted her head slightly, but did not point him out.

He slunk away, an ugly feeling blooming in his chest.

He was not able to avoid the ghost all day. When he stumbled into his room that night, she stood by his bed. “You are upset,” she said.

“Shall I dance for you?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to throw yourself into the fire instead? I’ve heard you can’t get enough of the Light. The fire's a good start.” He inwardly cursed himself. That was not his best mockery.

“Come with me.” He sneered, but followed. She did pay him, after all. He took his sickle, though. Out of habit. “The abbey is more important than the tavern,” she said as they walked through the night. “The tavern does not encourage magical powers. The abbey does. I need all the weapons I can gather and drunkenness will not impress a reanimated skeleton.”

“Or a ghost,” he said. He felt the absence of her stone gaze intensely. The fact that this was true was a bitter pill to swallow. He couldn’t deny that she was right.

She stopped in front of a well and motioned towards it. “Look inside.” If she were living, he would have refused, but a ghost could not push him down a well. He peered into its depths. It was so dark he could not even see the shine of light on water. He only had the ghost's dim, fuzzy light to see by. She made a soft sound. “Above you.”

He looked at the half-rotted roof of the well. He cocked a brow. Someone had wedged a dusty bottle of wine into the rafters. He pried it out. “Can all ghosts detect drink?”

An expression that might have been a smile or frown flickered across her face. Her steady voice gave no clues as to which it was. “Grandfather had a wine cellar built in his basement, but he did not keep his rarest bottle there. He claimed that it was the first place a thief would look for it.”

He held up the bottle to her dim light. When he read the label, he nearly dropped it. “Not even my old court had access to this.”

She did smile that time. He was certain. “Grandfather liked to enjoy himself.” She peered at him. “I find the living to be difficult to properly communicate with. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Sarmenti smiled. He thought he did. He used the tip of his sickle to pry out the cork. “Shall I splash some on your grave so you can taste it, my ethereal lady?”

“I cannot taste things. And if I could, that would not be how.”

He sipped the wine. Delightful. “Care for a game of dice?”

“You will have to roll for me.”


	4. Junia - Week Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Junia somehow ended up a squishy flower and I love her.

Junia huddled on her stool and tried to ignore the more raucous drunks around her. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the sinners around her. It had been wrong of them to turn to sin, she knew, but no wonder they had become tainted with all the evil in this land.

The clink of a glass landing on the wooden counter shook her from her thoughts. One of the tavern’s workers smiled mischievously at her. The worker pushed the glass forward. “You look like you need this,” she said.

Junia’s mouth went dry. The woman was beautiful. Her long hair fell from her shoulders in pleasing auburn tumbles and her eyes were bright and warm. She dimpled when she smiled. She couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the woman’s form. She scolded herself internally and forced a smile. “Thank you, but I am only here to hear Sarmenti play.”

The woman looked at the jester strumming his lute by the fire. “Oh, aye. He plays very well.” She nudged the vestal. “Not too hard on the eyes, either.”

Junia flushed. She couldn’t help but agree enthusiastically. Ashamed, she took the glass and sipped at it. The unfamiliar burn of alcohol stung her lips. “What is this?”

“Only our finest rum, for the finest lady in here.” She winked. “Is it too strong for you?”

“No,” she lied. She downed it in one gulp as she’d seen Dismas do. The drink burned her throat and her eyes watered fiercely.

The woman laughed – such a beautiful sound! – and sat next to her. “I’m Rose. Just got off work. Say, aren’t you the vestal that our lady hired?”

She nodded. “I’m here to help cleanse Hamlet of sin. I’m a skilled healer.” That came close to boasting, which was wrong. But it wasn’t really pride, was it? And Rose did look impressed. “I also preach at the abbey unless needed elsewhere.”

“Oh, has that been opened up?”

Junia’s mouth fell open in shock. “It opened last week!”

Rose shrugged easily. “The lord of the manor closed it four years ago and it’s the only place of worship for miles. Most of us just fell out of the habit.” Her smile turned sly. “Although I might go if you’ll be there.”

That familiar crash of lust swept over the vestal. Her smile turned shaky. “I look forward to seeing you there.” She pushed herself away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

She ran to the abbey, guilt dogging her. She had been wicked in encouraging Rose, but she was weak. So very weak. And why shouldn’t she allow herself some fun after she’d given so much to the Light? She gasped at her own thoughts. The taint of this place had seeped into her somehow.

She took a washcloth and started wiping down the pews. She’d scrub them until they shone and then say the verses until too tired to speak properly. She was a vestal in service to the light. Junia had to be strong for the people here. The Light was so weak here that if she allowed herself to become impure it may gutter out completely.

 

* * *

 

The sounds of construction and argument woke Junia early. She performed her morning rites quickly so she could see what the townspeople were up to. Once she left the tavern (Maud had kindly set aside the third floor for Lady Darkest’s group of ragtag fighters), Junia followed a clustered knot of workmen to the beginnings of a construction site.

The workmen were split between two dilapidated buildings across from each other. A muscled man argued with an iron-haired woman in the street between them.

“If we don’t get my smithy up, your lot will be fighting with shovels,” the man said.

“And we need a militia in Hamlet again, even if they do just have shovels,” the woman snapped.

“What are they fighting over?” A familiar voice said at Junia’s ear.

Junia tried not to startle away from her employer. The verses taught that ghosts were foul creatures of shadow that soured wine and chilled the air. The only chill Lady Darkest had about her was probably in her blackened heart. Junia looked nervously at the ghosts shimmering form. Well, maybe not blackened. But death had robbed her of something. Was it sinful to feel compassion for a ghost? “I believe,” she said, “there is some debate over which building should be repaired first.”

Lady Darkest narrowed her eyes slightly. “The old fighter’s guild or the smithy.”

“Fighter’s guild?”

“When I was young, Hamlet’s fighter’s guild was the pride of our town. People would come from distant lands to train here.” The ghost spoke as though bored. She strode up to the arguing pair. “Stop that. Split the workmen between you. Once one building is finished, work together to complete the other. Pay extra attention to the forge. Bats nest inside it.” She turned to Junia. “Vestal, come with me.”

Had she done something wrong? She followed the phantom until they were well out of earshot of the workmen. Lady Darkest turned to her abruptly. “I don’t understand. Explain it.”

Junia’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”

Lady Darkest pointed at the workmen. “I have not ordered this. Why are they working?”

“Oh.” Junia gathered her thoughts. She spoke carefully, to be sure the ghost would understand. “They spoke of putting a militia together again. You’ve done a lot for the people here. They’re only trying to help you.”

The ghost stilled. “I have only been of value in the last three weeks. I am including this week in that number and it has barely begun.”

“Oh, that’s not true, my lady. You’ve done a lot. I’m sure they were happy to see you again once you came back. It showed them that someone cares about them.” She wasn’t sure how much the ghost could feel, but that she cared about Hamlet was obvious. “And I’ve heard people in the abbey pray for you, my lady. They say that no bandits have come into town since you arrived.”

“I suppose.”

“And you’ve brought people in to start cleansing the land of sin.” She tried to lay a hand on the woman’s arm to comfort her, but her hand swept through the ghost’s form. Junia grinned sheepishly. “I’ve heard many confessions as a vestal, my lady, and many are ashamed of standing aside and letting evil happen. You serve the Light admirably.”

The ghost made a peculiar sound. Amusement? “I serve myself and my lands. The Light is a tool for me to use as I see fit. The caretaker will return soon with new recruits. You will come with me to meet them.”

Junia followed her employer through the streets to the outskirts of town. Lady Darkest took up a post at the exact edge of the town and stared at the forest’s edge. A strip of scraggly land was the only division between civilization (such as it was) and the fungus-spotted woods. Eventually, Junia knew she would be sent there on an expedition. Hopefully, it would be a long time before that happened.

She whispered the verses over her prayer beads to pass the time. The sun crept across the sky. She sat in the dirt to prevent her legs from cramping up any more.

By the time the carriage came careening down the path (Junia couldn’t help a twinge of empathy for its passengers) the only light was her employer’s softly-glowing form.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Lady Darkest poked her head in. Someone screamed. “You will not be hired,” the ghost said matter-of-factly.

Junia opened the carriage door. “Please, my lady, they need room to move past you.”

The ghost stared at her. “They can move through me without effort.” She did give the new recruits some space, though. Junia took it as a victory.

“Welcome to Hamlet,” she said. She couldn’t help but think that if they could just get past this awkward moment everything would be okay. “The Light blesses you for your good deeds. May we serve it together.”

A heavily armoured woman was the only one who stepped out of the carriage. She looked at Junia scornfully. “I will not take blessings from an impure vestal who leaves her vows behind to serve the creatures of darkness.”

Junia shuffled her feet. She couldn’t help but shrink on herself, remembering the rum and Rose’s smile. “I am pure. And I’ve kept my vows.” She sounded like a petulant child, she thought to herself. She forced a smile and tried to draw herself up. “This is Lady Darkest. She seeks to cleanse these lands of sin. The verses say that any who do the Light’s work are blessed and holy.”

The woman sniffed. Her employer circled the armoured woman like a bird of prey. “You are interesting,” she said. “I will hire you. The others may go.”

There should have been a commotion at that. There wasn’t. The others still hadn’t left the carriage.

The caretaker gave the armoured woman a sheaf of paper and then hopped into the driver’s seat. “Stop,” The woman said. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

The caretaker giggled nervously. “Our lady said so. The dead,” he tapped his eyes, “see the truth in our souls. With their cold eyes. Such cold!” He snapped the reigns and the grumpy black horse set off into the woods.

“Come back here!” The woman shouted.

“He’s harmless, once you get to know him. And Hamlet isn’t so bad. There’s a lovely abbey and a jester that plays in the tavern-“

“I’m not staying here,” The woman ground out. “When will he be back?”

“Next week,” Lady Darkest said.

The woman very deliberately shredded the contract. She tossed the shredded paper into the ghosts form. She adjusted her shield over her back and stomped off.

“I’ll try to speak with her,” Junia said. “A bit of prayer will settle her spirit. I’m sure she will stay, my lady.”

The ghost stared after her. “She doesn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“My lady?” She couldn’t help the prickle of unease.

The ghost looked at her. “Can you not see it, vestal? A seraph has possessed that woman. I doubt it will allow its host to leave this place until the Heart is killed.”

Junia stumbled. “What? My lady?”

The ghost shrugged slightly and walked away.

Junia stood on the edges of Hamlet. She clutched her prayer beads to her chest. She couldn’t stop her trembling. She didn’t try to stop the tears that pricked her eyes.

 

* * *

 

She blessed Dismas, Alhazred, Badu and Sarmenti when they went out into the forest to clear the roads a bit. Junia was glad she hadn’t been selected, because she was a sinful coward. She kneeled at the abbey’s altar every day and begged the Light to absolve her weakness. She avoided the seraph-possessed woman when she came to the abbey. She was not worthy. Rose waved at her when she came to mass, but Junia didn’t acknowledge her.


	5. Lady Darkest - Week Four

Lady Darkest watched the workmen swarm around their newest project. Reopening the sanatorium was another thing she had not ordered done. That didn’t stop the workmen from nodding at her now and then. How peculiar. She recalled Junia’s words, but it all just seemed so impractical.

The Hamlet’s ‘workmen’ were really just farmers and the like who’d decided to stop working in their fields for a day to do this instead. It was her duty to revitalize the town, not theirs. Was it self-interest? Then why should they be so friendly with her? She would never understand the living.

She decided that their motivation wasn’t important. She had planned on ordering the sanatorium repaired soon anyways, she just hadn’t had the chance to do it yet. She drifted down the path to stand at the edge of Hamlet. The carriage would arrive soon. It was important to meet the potential recruits. After all, if the sight of her undid them then they didn’t have the stomach for this sort of work.

Junia found her there. She watched the vestal approach. “My lady,” the vestal said, “We’ve lost Missandei.”

“Explain.”

The vestal shifted nervously. “Well, she was at the tavern a few nights ago, but she’s vanished. Nobody knows where she is.”

“Why has this not been reported earlier?”

“We only just found out. She kept to herself a lot, so we didn’t see that much of her to begin with.”

Lady Darkest turned her eyes back the forest’s edge. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Pardon?”

“We have important work to do. I have no time to chase after missing women.”

The vestal’s mouth fell open. She clutched her prayer beads to her chest. “But what if she’s missing? She could be hurt somewhere, in the dark and all alone. We need to find her, my lady.”

When exactly had she become ‘my lady’ to Junia? She couldn’t remember. “Enough. The new recruits are here.”

The carriage rattled towards them. The caretaker waved at her from his perch. He hopped down lightly and made a strange gesture. She tilted her head. Perhaps it had been an obscene imitation of Sarmenti’s courtly bows. Lately the jester had taken up the habit of bowing at her. It was quite ridiculous, but it amused her in some distant way. The caretaker was not as amusing as the jester.

The carriage door swung open and a leather-clad blonde stepped out. Another noblewoman. She had the hourglass figure that could only be obtained with a lifetime of corsets. Lady Darkest has purposely kept the laces on her corsets loose so as to avoid the pain of bones rearranging themselves.

The noblewoman whistled. “Well, don’t you look a sight.”

A woman with a scarf wrapped over her head poked her head out. Her eyes widened slightly. A petite blonde slipped past her. This one was clad in ornate silk robes of some sort. The blonde woman daintily stepped towards the ghost and curtsied. “I am Vottale. Are you our employer?”

Lady Darkest tilted her head slightly. She saw the many-headed serpent beast superimposed over the beautiful disguise. “I am not your employer until you sign the contract.”

The lamia smiled. “May I please have it? I would very much like to begin.”

“The caretaker has your papers.” What an interesting twist.

The glisten of a trapped soul caught her eye. The woman with a headscarf had a censor wrapped about her waist. The soul winked at her. She could nearly hear its pleading, but it was not her that was trapped. It was no concern of hers.

All three women ended up signing the papers. She now had an antiquarian named Katherine, a lamia named Vottale and a grave robber named Audrey. A promising start to the week.

Junia had stood silent beside her the whole time. The three new recruits were not quite out of hearing when she said, “Can we please organize a search for Missandei? I’m so worried about her.”

The three women returned. “A villager is missing?” the lamia asked.

It was possible that the air about her chilled slightly. Certainly her edges hardened. “No.”

“One of our fellow fighters,” Junia said. “We’ve only discovered that she’s been missing for a few days. We can’t find her in Hamlet. Might she have wandered into the woods?”

Audrey gestured at the woods. “Frankly, if she wandered into those infested woods alone, she deserves whatever happened to her. You know that our carriage was chased by these mushroom men on the way over?”

Lady Darkest turned away to inspect the carriage for damage.

Junia stamped a foot. “My lady, please!”

“Sorry,” Audrey said. “I had no idea the dead were distracted that easily.”

A familiar, irritating presence prickled where her spine might have been. She turned to watch the seraph-woman approach. She may have appreciated the tactical advantage of having a powerful creature of the Light here, but she didn’t have to feel comfortable around her. The others would not touch her. This one would turn its attention towards her once the Heart was killed. A golden light, visible only to the clear eyes of the dead, flickered above the seraph-woman’s head in acknowledgement of her words.

 _:After,:_ the seraph whispered into the phantom’s mind. _:Do not fear me yet.:_

“I see the carriage has finally returned,” the woman said.

Junia turned to the armoured seraph-woman. “Sigman, surely you see that we must find Missandei?”

The seraph-woman scowled. “A sinner is best executed.” Her gaze turned to the ghost. “But we should teach your evil spirit a lesson in compassion. I suppose I can wait until next week to leave this fetid swamp.”

Lady Darkest said, “There are no swamps nearby.” There were several marshy patches in the woods, but the seraph-woman didn’t need to know that.

Junia breathed a sigh of relief and slipped her prayer beads back into her pocket. “We should bring Shag. Maybe his dog could pick up her scent.”

Lady Darkest almost rolled her eyes. “He’s busy training our new militia. He has experience as a lawman that we need. It would be less practical to have him scouring the woods.”

“I can come,” Vottale said. “I’m quite good at tracking.”

Audrey shrugged. “I’m in. When do we leave?”

“Immediately,” the seraph-woman announced. “We cannot afford to waste a moment.”

To annoy the seraph more than anything, the phantom said, “She has already been dead for several days. Another will not make a difference.”

“We don’t know she’s dead.” The vestal sounded almost wounded.

She shrugged. “It is not so terrible to be dead.”

A peculiar silence settled over her living companions. She could not be bothered trying to decipher it. She led them into the woods.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, her living companions were tired and muddy. They didn’t want to give up, though. Half the time, Lady Darkest trailed after them. She admitted that their reactions to a potential death in their roster were interesting. Even Audrey and Vottale were eager to find Missandei, even though they didn’t know her at all. The rest of the time, she scouted ahead of the group and led them around the denser patches of fungal infection. _:Perhaps you failed to mention your experiments with fungus?:_ she sent out.

 _:That wasn’t me. That was a madwoman who experimented on herself,:_ Grandfather said.

Soon she would not be able to speak with him. She was too far from the manor to maintain a proper connection with him. She felt his presence slip just out of reach.

One of them women gasped. She turned to see what enemy had attacked them. Junia flung herself in front of the phantom, arms flung out wide. “Don’t look, my lady. It’s too terrible.”

She stared at the vestal. The slight woman was doing her best to block her field of vision. Lady Darkest walked straight through her. Junia yelped. “What is it?” the ghost asked.

“Don’t do that!” Junia cried out.

Lady Darkest paused when she saw what had her living companions so transfixed. A corpse lay in the brambles, dress torn. The remains of a looted suitcase were scattered about. A swatch of silk from the corpses dress was caught on a bramble. The flesh was steadily rotting. “What is wrong?”

Audrey sucked air between her teeth. “It’s you.”

“I am right here.”

The vestal moved as though to comfort her. “She’s in shock.”

“I am not in shock.”

Junia cooed at her. Lady Darkest tried not to feel insulted. “You’ve seen your own corpse. It’s okay to be unnerved, my lady. Nobody will think less of you for it. I had no idea you were left out here. The shame of it! Don’t worry, we’ll give you a proper burial.”

“It is a heap of rotted meat and bone. It is nothing to me,” she said.

Sigman hoisted the corpse over her shoulder. “I assume the graveyard has consecrated soil?”

“Of course,” Junia said. “We should hurry back.” She smiled at the phantom. “Don’t worry, we’ll set this right.”

“I assume,” Lady Darkest said, “that you are no longer worried about Missandei?”

Vottale said, “She might have returned already.” The other three set off determinedly. Vottale hung back. “Besides,” she murmured, “burying your body will encourage the townsfolk. It will be good for morale.”

The phantom looked at the petite woman beside her. “I had not considered that. It would appear that you are useful for more than one reason.”

The lamia smiled demurely. “You are not the first ghost I’ve met. I understand the difficulties you have with the living. I too must be careful around them. They are sensitive about certain things.”

She stared at her. “You know about the Heart.” It was not a question. “You want to kill it. Explain.”

“I live in this world, don’t I? I’d like it to outlast me.”

Lady Darkest felt that there was nothing else to say beyond that. The lamia was silent, so perhaps she thought so too.

 

* * *

 

The funeral service was solemn. Most of the town attended. Her mercenaries stood in a semi-circle around the hastily put-together coffin. The living had wanted her to stand at a special place of honour by the tombstone. She folded her hands and waited for the service to end. The caretaker’s recitations of her exploits as a child in Hamlet were only met with silence because the living must have felt uncomfortable laughing in front of her.

She wouldn’t have cared either way. The living lowered the coffin into the ground while Junia swung a censer about and chanted. Her mercenaries took shovels and filled in the hole. The villagers watched in respectful silence.

Once the burial was over, the living snuck glances at her as though expecting a change of some sort. She stood patiently by the headstone and allowed them to see that their peculiar ritual had not affected her.

The living left in clumps and clusters. She was sure that some must have come alone, but none of them left that way.

The last one to leave was a boy of no more than ten. The child stood beside her. He traced stubby fingers over the inscription. “What’s the words say?”

“Our Lady Darkest lies here. May she walk these lands until her spirit fades.” The boy had not asked about the numbers, so she left those out.

“Mamma was awful scared. She said that you’d go away once we buried you. She said you should have been left in the woods or else you’d go up to heaven with the angels.”

“The angels are here, child, and they are not kind.” Perhaps she would have laid a hand on the boy’s hair if she were living. Ruffled his hair. Would she have done that when alive? She had never had the opportunity to ruffle a child’s hair. She supposed it didn’t matter.

The child looked up at her. “Are you going to go to heaven now?”

She stared at the child. “No.”


	6. Missandei - Week Five

Missandei winced at the pounding in her head. She checked her bag. Sure enough, all her belongings were there. Her weapon was safely holstered at her back. She picked a twig out of her hair. She could still taste whatever horrible booze the barkeep had given her. If she had more of it, she could have washed the thumping out of her head.

She pulled herself up and looked around. The forest was to her left, so the village must have been to her right. Her stomach twisted into hungry knots. She wondered how long she’d been wandering the barren scrub between forest and village. She hoped that she hadn’t missed an opportunity for a week’s pay.

Missandei scowled. Hamlet was a fucking stupid place to live and the ghost’s contract was full of tricky language. She had only realized after she’d signed it that she would only get payed if she went on actual expeditions. The ghost’s insistence that they go on four at a time really didn’t make it easy to get payment.

She spat. That’s what she got for coming here.

She heard footsteps from behind her. Missandei whirled around, head screeching in pain at the sudden movement. The scariest man she’d ever seen grinned at her. His bloodied hood clung to his head. He was bare from the waist up. Normally she would have appreciated that, but the half-healed scars made her skin crawl. His grin turned savage and she tried not to wince at the sight of the flail strapped to his back.

“Is this the way to Hamlet?” His voice settled low in her stomach.

She nodded sharply. “Yeah. What do you want with that dump?” The last thing Missandei needed was more people trying to come in and steal her profits.

He grinned wolfishly at her and set off down the road. She followed at a safe distance. He ignored her.

 

* * *

 

The ghost stood at the edge of town along with a group of idiots fresh from the carriage. The flagellant stood beside Missandei while she waited for a good moment to catch the ghost’s attention. She had been here for a full two weeks already and hadn’t seen a scrap of gold. There were other places where she could get work. Places without creepy-ass monsters and shit running around.

The ghost waved a hand in dismissal and the caretaker bundled the disturbed newcomers back into the carriage. He made to snap the whip, but the ghost held up a hand. The ghost paced up to her.

Missandei thrust her contract forward. “Look, we need to revise this. This isn’t what I-“

“You are dismissed,” the ghost said.

She huffed out a laugh. “What?” The ghost stared at her. “The fuck are you talking about?”

The ghost tilted her head slightly. “I am hiring fighters, not drunkards.”

She ripped her arbalest out so she could wave it in front of the ghost’s face. “What the hell do you think this is for?”

“A weapon is no good unless you use it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to use it if you never let me go out? I’ve been here two weeks and you haven’t sent me out once.”

The ghost didn’t even bother cocking a brow. “Have you really been here that long? I do not remember hiring you.”

She bit back the screech that nearly clawed out of her throat. “You were too busy fawning over that stupid walking hunk of metal.”

“Ah. The seraph-woman.” The ghost looked her up and down. “I was mostly concerned with her. You failed to make an impression.” She turned to the caretaker. “Have we truly hired this woman?”

The caretaker nodded. “Oh, yes. Two weeks ago with the glowing golden lady.” The crazy idiot snickered.

The ghost shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re fired.”

Missandei nearly threw her weapon to the ground. “What! No. Come on, I’m good in a fight. Let me prove it to you. Let me go out this week. Just once.”

The ghost shrugged. “If you want. But if you vanish again I will not be so lenient.” The ghost almost smiled. “If you prove to be a true drunkard and not a fighter, you will die and I will not have to pay you. Your share will be donated towards the restoration of Hamlet.”

“Fine.” Missandei slung her arbalest over her back and stormed off. 

 

* * *

 

She was itching with anticipation by the time the ghost pronounced them ready to leave. A crusader, some dinky vestal and a thin man who looked like a stiff wind could kill him were her team members. Missandei double-checked that the string on her arbalest was properly wound. She grimaced at the thin man. “You sure you’re not going to get killed out there?”

The man held up a skull with a candle stuck on top of it. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Creepy. Even creepier was the fact that the flagellant was there to see them off. The vestal was also there, and Missandei accepted her foolish blessings. Better to just get the chanting over with, since the crusader was there.

The flagellant grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her apart from the others. Missandei hissed. Her teammates had already started down the path into the forest. “You’re going to make me late.”

“My name is Damian,” he said.

“So?”

He grinned wolfishly. “Well, aren’t you full of jagged edges?” He lifted her wrist to his lips and she stilled. A startling mixture of shock and something else flooded her. Going still was a mistake. His gaze turned heavy and he bit down. He broke skin and she ripped her arm away.

“The fuck!”

“A blessing,” he purred. “Let the suffering ease your path.”

“Missandei?” the crusader called. “Are you coming?”

She hissed and cradled her injured wrist. “Yeah,” she snapped.

“Aren’t you going to thank me for the blessing?”

She nearly shot him. She settled for shooting him a rude gesture. Missandei left, teeth gritted, to the sound of his laughter.


	7. Reynauld - Week Six

Reynauld took comfort in the heft of his sword. He moved through his training exercises. These early mornings were the only time the guild’s training grounds were empty. Every morning he woke at dawn, performed his morning rites and came here to run through his drills. He kept his eyes closed as he went through the familiar movements.

He practiced without armour, so he could better focus on the movement and weight of the sword itself. His polished weapon was an extension of his arm but he needed daily practice to keep it that way. Considering his mission, it was important that he stay in top condition. He had people relying on him, after all.

A low whistle broke his concentration. Dismas lounged against the fence watching him. The highwayman tipped two fingers towards him in greeting. “Hey there, soldier boy. Lady Darkest wants us all over at the tavern.”

Reynauld nodded and sheathed his sword. He forced himself to ignore the way the other man’s eyes trailed down his figure. He thanked the Light that his flush could be mistaken for exertion and nothing else. His wife had been the same way, he recalled. She had been obvious and generous with her affection. It was impossible to deny that he had a taste for that sort of behaviour, but he could at least hide his responses from Dismas.

He followed his companion over to the tavern. Lady Darkest stood at the head of the tavern’s longest table. His companions were settled around her, blurry-eyed and poking at their breakfast. The innkeeper, Maud, grinned at him. “Want some more grub, sir knight?”

He thanked her for the thought, but it was unnecessary. He settled into an empty chair and Dismas sat beside him. “I’ll have some food,” he said.

Maud set a plate of eggs and sausages in front of the highwayman.

“Enough of that,” Lady Darkest said. Her expression flickered minutely. “There are not enough rooms for you all.” She held up a hand to silence the protests. “A wyrd council has come to Hamlet.” Her tiny smile was unmistakable. “Apparently, Hamlet’s reputation as a place where evil is fought has spread. I will need you to reorganize yourselves. Two to a room for this week. Is that understood?”

Their employer’s gaze turned to each of them. Vottale said, “What a lovely thought, my lady. Junia, would you mind sharing a room with me?”

The phantom nodded. “Very good. Alhazred, you will come greet them with me. Make your arrangements now.”

Unsurprisingly, the occultist and Sarmenti decided to share a room. Although Alhazred’s pagan magic unnerved him, it was good to see that he had made a friend here. The occultist and the jester shared a thorny wit that he just couldn’t understand.

Dismas prodded him in the side. Reynauld batted his hand away. “Yes?”

“Your room or mine?”

Reynauld choked a bit. “Pardon?”

The highwayman sighed. “We’re sharing a room, yeah?”

He blinked owlishly. He had already swore that he wouldn’t let Dismas catch wind of his own foolish attraction. Sharing rooms with the man was a terrible idea. “Very well,” wasn’t what he intended to say, but it was what came out of his treacherous mouth.

Dismas clapped him on the back. “Thanks mate. Rather you than Badu.”

“Of course I have to make my acids tonight!” The plague doctor was saying to the room at large. “Just try not to stand too close and you should be fine.”

Reynauld and Dismas fled the table before the plague doctor turned to them.

“So,” Dismas said again. “Yours or mine?”

“Yours is fine.”

* * *

 

After moving his personal items into the highwayman’s room (Dismas did not help) Reynauld went for a walk. Perhaps he would train more. If he returned to their room exhausted, he would be able to fall asleep immediately and avoid embarrassment. They would have to share the bed. He felt dizzy at the thought. No, he’d rather sleep on the floor.

The wind shifted and an acrid scent made him wince. He followed it to the courtyard. The wyrd council was busy. They had fetishes, cauldrons and pickled things in bottles that Reynauld refused to look too closely at.

Alhazred came up to him. The occultist ushered him back a bit. “You’ll have to stand outside the circle.”

Reyanuld backed away. He hadn’t noticed the ring of white stones that he’d unwittingly stepped over. “Are these rituals dangerous?”

Alhazred smiled. “Not if you stay outside the circle. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“I know little about these magics. What does the wyrd council plan on doing? They have travelled many miles to come here.”

The other man looked around thoughtfully. “This place,” he said carefully, “is unique. There are many things my colleagues and I need to study if we are to understand it. This is a practical exercise. We are hoping to prove a theory.”

“What is the theory?”

“That the darkness here can be understood, of course. That it can be beaten.”

“We have already done a great deal, Alhazred.” Reynauld clapped him on the back. “You would have been a fine soldier, in another life.”

The occultist smiled oddly and went back to his fellows. “We start at dusk.”

Reynauld had not planned on watching the wyrd council at its work. He had joined Junia in ushering playing children home so they wouldn’t get caught outside. Normally it was not something they did, but Alhazred’s warning about breaking the circle lingered in his mind. The children meant well, but in his opinion they were too fascinated with the pagan magic. “Are we gonna get more ghosts?” A doe-eyed girl asked him while he walked her home.

“Of course not,” he told her.

She sulked the rest of the way.

After that, he spent a good half hour helping a parent find their missing son. They ran up and down streets, they called down allies and they checked the tavern. Reynauld finally found the boy in the crowd that had gathered to watch the wyrd council.

“Honestly,” the parent said. “We were supposed to walk over together, boy.”

“I saved you a spot, father!”

“Oh, well that’s alright then.”

Reynauld found himself seated in the grass besides the young boy, feeling greatly disturbed.

That feeling grew when the wyrd council began. The members were all swathed in dark fabric. Reynauld knew that Alhazred must be among them, but he could not pick him out. The wyrd council spoke as one in words he couldn’t recognize. They squirmed through the air like corpseflies. Reynauld nearly clamped his hands around the boy’s ears. He sneaked a glance at the child beside him. The boy grinned at the wyrd council, cheeks flushed with happiness.

Reynauld felt sick. As one, the wyrd council pulled out knives. A black chicken was pulled out of a crate that he hadn’t noticed in the darkness. Reynauld made his excuses and shuffled out of the audience.

He looked back once he was clear of the crowd. He shuddered. He couldn’t tell which disturbed him more, the wyrd council or the villagers.

He could appreciate the occultist’s misguided attempts to learn about the evil that tainted these lands, but the villagers had no reason to be so excited to witness such dark things. Had they grown used to blackness? Had they been corrupted somehow? Poisoned just as the land was? Reynauld didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted to do was go to bed.

* * *

 

The tavern common room was empty. Maud offered him some food, but he waved her away as soon as the words ‘roast chicken’ left her lips.

Reynauld nearly went into his usual room before he remembered that he wouldn’t be sleeping there tonight. Had Lady Darkest said how long the wyrd council would be staying? Hopefully they’d leave in the morning. Their intentions were noble, but far too misguided. And the children were far too entranced by the wyrd council.

He took a steadying breath and knocked on the highwayman’s door. Dismas grunted, and Reynauld took it as permission to enter. Dismas lounged in the bed, holding a book. Reynauld blinked owlishly at the sight. He could read? He must have said that aloud, because the highwayman snorted.

“Course I can read,” he said. He smirked and flicked a page.

Reynauld frowned and busied himself with preparing a spot on the floor. Dismas set his book aside and watched him. “Just sleep on the bed.”

He tried not to blush. He angled his body away from the other man so he wouldn’t see. “I am a guest here and will not put you from your own bed.”

Dismas snickered. “It’s a tavern. I’m not even paying for it.” He heard Dismas pat the bed. “Come on, I don’t bite.”

Reynauld couldn’t have been more embarrassed at the slew of images that produced. It had been far too long. “I would rather sleep on the floor.” His voice came out far too stiff, but the highwayman only snorted.

“Suit yourself.”

Reynauld pulled out his prayerbook and held it tight. He whispered his nightly prayers, so as not to disturb his roommate. It hadn’t worked. “Why have a book if you can’t read it?” Dismas muttered.

“It’s a symbol of my faith.” Dismas grunted again. Reynauld didn’t dare change clothes. He slipped into the cocoon of blankets he’d created for himself. He watched the other man read. He couldn’t help it. He’d only seen priests read from holy books. Certainly none of the other soldiers had known how to read. He tried to imagine Dismas as a priest and couldn’t help but smile. “What are you reading?”

Dismas looked at him suspiciously. “Beowulf.” At Reynauld’s blank expression, he sighed. “It’s a poem.”

Reynauld eyed the book. It looked to be a bit thick for poetry, but what did he know about such things? “Are there more poems in your book?”

Dismas’ smile curled into a lazy grin. He shut the book deliberately. “You askin’ me to read to you?”

He blushed and turned away. “No.”

The sheets rustled. Dismas begin to read aloud. Slowly, Reynauld turned back towards the highwayman.


End file.
